There’s a magical land I know,
a place, where I grew up.
And I’d make a deal with the Devil himself,
to see that place blown up.
There in that interesting land I know
where no one has a brain,
they all wear jeans that are acid-washed
and yet they think I’m insane.

I would get down on my knees
and service the Japanese
’til I reek of old susshi but please,
bomb New Jersey!
I would happily kowtow
to my new leader, Chairman Mao.
I would even learn Chinese
Just please, bomb New Jersey!

Bomb New Jersey!
Bomb New Jersey!
I would go tell Jong Il Kim
that they’re making fun of him
in a kimchi-hating town that’s known
as New Jersey.
Better yet I’ve got a plan
I will convince Pakistan
that India can be found somewhere
in New Jersey.

New Jersey is a place where I grew up.
They pelted me with rocks and garbage.
I guess it’s tough to be a fruit in the Garden State.
And if you have a sexy girlfriend
then they’re doubly irate!
Oh, I would climb a rocky crag
and plant a Russian flag
on a smoldering hole once known
as New Jersey.
Oh, it would be a tragic loss
if both Bon Jovi and the Boss
are somewhere out of state
when the Danes nuke New Jersey.

It’s a place named after a sweatshirt.
So what more can you expect, sir?
And if you try to express your individuality
they will throw you to the ground
and they’ll kick you in the teeth.
Like they did to me.

The bombs come down on Morristown
and Trenton’s up in flames.
Newak we drowned then burned it down
but Elizabeth still smells the same.
Many butts we’ll breach on Monmouth Beach.
We’ll erase Orange from site.
But before I leave this land I loathe,
I bid New Jersey, “Good night!”